


say you'll remember me

by toflowerknights



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Amnesia, Angst, F/F, Kinda, Manipulation, Stockholm Syndrome, clarke got captured instead of monty, no one got captured after the battle
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-31
Updated: 2014-10-31
Packaged: 2018-02-23 06:49:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,007
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2538239
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/toflowerknights/pseuds/toflowerknights
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clarke knew every inch of the girl she was drawing, she had been drawing her for months. And the drawings never looked the same. Sometimes she'd be smiling widely, sometimes she'd be looking sideways as if there was another person off frame that had caught her eye, a lot of times she looked scared. Sometimes she'd be crying and something deep inside Clarke ached every time she found herself drawing the girl like that. Clarke knew every emotion the girl in her drawings had ever felt </p><p>Clarke just wished she knew who the girl was.</p>
            </blockquote>





	say you'll remember me

**Author's Note:**

> based upon an edit found [here](http://bravenlarked.tumblr.com/post/101207440947/au-clarke-has-been-held-captive-by-the-mountain)

She was drawing again. Long, sweeping strokes that she later realised turned into wavy hair, subconsciously tucked behind an ear. Eyes framed by long eyelashes that was sneaking a glance toward her. Lips curved up in a small, shy smile and the shoulders were drawn up, as if the person in the drawing knew she was being watched and desperately wanted to hide. Knew the shape of her fingers, the look in her eyes. The right way to draw the curves of her body, the stretch of her smile. Every stroke of charcoal was instinctive. Clarke knew every inch of the girl she was drawing, she had been drawing her for months. And the drawings never looked the same. Sometimes she'd be smiling widely, sometimes she'd be looking sideways as if there was another person off frame that had caught her eye, a lot of times she looked scared. Sometimes she'd be crying and something deep inside Clarke ached every time she found herself drawing the girl like that. Clarke knew every emotion the girl in her drawings had ever felt 

Clarke just wished she knew who the girl was.

There was a buzzing sound behind her and she looked up just in time to see President Wallace step into her room. She smiled widely and bowed her head in respect.

"President Wallace," she said and got up from her bed. President Wallace shook his head.

"Clarke, how many times have I told you to call me Dante?" he asked with a smile. Clarke shrugged, but didn't bother correcting herself. Wallace shook his head once more and looked behind himself. "You can come in now." A nurse, Jemma, Clarke thought her name was, stepped in with a cart pushed in front of her. A distressed sound locked itself in her throat and she took a subconscious step back.

"It's time for your medication, Clarke," he said in a comforting voice and Clarke pressed her lips together in discomfort. "I know you don't like them, but they are necessary for your recovery. Don't you want to remember your life before your accident?"

The words echoed in Clarke's ears and she felt her distress getting stronger. She had woken up in this exact same bed two months ago with no recollection of who she was and were she had come from. President Wallace had been sitting by her side with a warm smile and comforting words that they would help her get better. At first Clarke had done everything in her power to fight the treatment they had started on her, but when she actually remembered she had accepted the fact that he was telling the truth. Still, that didn't mean she had to like it.

"They make me feel ill," she replied with a slight whine.

"They're making you better," President Wallace said firmly. "You remember things, things about your life, right?"

Clarke's shoulders sagged slightly and she nodded quietly. She did remember. She remembered her parents that passed away when she was ten and she remembered how she fell down one of the stairs when she was five, and that was the reason he had a scar across her left leg. But there was still so much that couldn't be explained. She didn't know why she couldn't remember. She didn't know why she got a chills running down her spine every time she was met with a polite smile or a sympathetic look. She still didn't know who the girl in her drawings was. She didn't know why she was surrounded by trees and lakes and flowers, when Clarke never had stepped a foot outside Mount Weather in her life. And there was still no explanation as to why she felt the need to run, far away. Mount Weather was her home. She couldn't understand why she would feel the need to escape. President Wallace was right. The meds did make her better. And she needed them to remember.

"You'll be here the whole time?" she asked, like she always did.

President Wallace smiled. "The whole time," he promised, "As always."

He could see her resolve die and he smiled gently at her. "Lie down, Clarke," he said and after a moment's hesitation, Clarke did as she was asked. The doctor came up to her and, as per usual, cuffed her hands and legs to the bed. The first time it had happened Clarke had fought against the cuffs hard enough that they had dug through the skin, leaving angry scars across her wrists. Now she was used enough to the routine that she simply hisses slightly when the cold metal locked her down.

She saw the syringe out of the corner of her eye and took a deep breath in preparation. There was a slight pinch before the meds kicked in and everything went dark.

-

Something was wrong. She could feel it in her bones. She should run. She tried to lift her legs, but something was holding her down. She cried out for help, but her words came out slurred and she felt panic grow. President Wallace's face floated into Clarke's vision.

"Don't worry, Clarke," he said, "Just finish telling me what you were saying before. About the Ark."

 _Ark?_ Clarke thought dimly. _I don't know anything about an Ark._

But she did. She remembered the cold air, the endless corridors and the constant hum from the machines. Her home.

"They were coming to help us," she whispered. "We were getting help, but then..." _A crash. Her mother died._ Clarke's breath hitched. "Mom..."

"That's really good, Clarke," Wallace encouraged. "I think that's enough for today." Clarke could see him motion to the nurse to her right. The nurse lifted a new syringe and she felt the pinch again.

"No," Clarke moaned. "Please, let me remember..." 

The drugs hit her system and everything went black once more.

-

"Welcome back, Clarke."

Clarke rubbed her eyes to get them used to the white light and sat up in her bed. President Wallace sat in the chair he always occupied with a book clasped in his hands. It was a book she had seen him read several times, thin and with a red cover, but she didn't know what it was called. She never had thought to ask.

"How long was I out?"

"A few hours," he replied and put the book aside. "Do you remember anything?"

Clarke tried to focus, but her mind was too tired, too messed up. She shook her head and President Wallace nodded in acceptance.

"Just get some rest," he said. "Maybe it'll come back to you soon. I'll see you in two weeks."

He got up from the chair and left. Clarke curled up her legs underneath her and reached for her sketch pad. The girl wanted to be drawn again.

-

Loud alarms woke Clarke from her sleep. She pushed herself up from the bed and ran over to the door and tried to see what was happening outside. The corridor outside her room was empty, nothing moving except for the flashing red lights indicating a security breach. She tried the handle, but as always when security was at stake, the whole place went on lockdown. Clarke moved on autopilot. She moved away from the door and grabbed the scalpel she used to sharpen her charcoal with and back up against the wall. If she strained her ears she could hear people moving further down the hall and she tightened her grip on the scalpel.

A shadow flew past the small window and Clarke's breath got stuck in her throat. Then the person who had run past her room came back into view. They were wearing a mask, so Clarke couldn't see their face and she had never felt more vulnerable then she had in that moment. The person looked to the side and Clarke thought they might shout for someone to get there, because suddenly there was more people trying to look into her room. One of them did something, because all of a sudden the green light above her door signaled that it was unlocked.

The door swung open and people streamed in. Clarke counted five of them and raised her scalpel, which looked like a pretty useless weapon against all those guns.

"Don't come any closer," she warned.

One of the people reached for his helmet and pulled it off. Behind it was... a boy. Clarke found herself stunned. He looked as if he was the same age as her. He looked at her with tears in his eyes and his brown hair tugged at some strings of familiarity in her, but Clarke forced herself to focus.

"Clarke," the boy breathed and if Clarke hadn't been scared before, she definitely was now. "You're alive."

Another stranger removed his mask and a freckled face showed the same amazement as the first one. Her head buzzed with the strain of everything that was happening and she blinked heavily to make the sudden headache go away.

"Don't... don't come near me," she said again. "I won't hesitate to kill you if I have to."

Confusion coloured both of their faces and the second boy lowered his gun. "Clarke," he said in a low voice. "It's okay, we're here now."

"I don't know you," Clarke interrupted. "I don't know how you know my name, but I have never seen you before in my life. Please, I don't want anyone to get hurt. Just leave me alone and go find what you're here for. I won't cause any trouble."

"Clarke, it's Finn," the first boy said. The wonder in his eyes had been replaced by something hurt, and Clarke found that she was angry at herself for being the cause of it. "And we came here for you."

"This is taking too long," A faceless man said and raised his gun. Both of the boys cried out when the gun went off and Clarke felt something hit her chest. She looked down and saw a syringe filled with clear blue liquid bury itself in her chest and a moment later she felt her knees give out.

-

When Clarke woke up she wasn't met with the blinding white lights of her room. Quite the opposite, everything around her was dark with next to no source of light anywhere. The bed she was laying on was hard and uncomfortable and she heard voices talking quietly near her.

Everything was wrong. 

Clarke's heart sped up when she realised she wasn't in Mount Weather anymore. She wondered how long she had been outside the safety of the walls, when her time would be running out. How long did she have before she died?

As she took deep breaths to calm herself down she looked around and saw a door to her right. She didn't know what to do. She could try to run, but did it matter at this point? Still, she had to try. If she went fast she might be able to get back to Mount Weather and be decontaminated in time.

She was on her feet before she even realised she had made the decision and burst through the doors. There were a guard on either side of her, but she had surprised them enough that it took them a while to react as she ran barefoot through the eerily familiar hallways. She could hear the guards yell for backup and her heart drummed harshly against her ribcage as she turned a corner and run straight into two more guards.

They grabbed her by the arms and pushed her down against the floor. She managed to get a few kicks in before they tired and got her into a kneeling position. The metal dug into her knees and Clarke gasped out in pain. She heard them speak and started fighting their grip even more when she realised they were talking to her.

"Clarke, you're safe. You're home! You're safe now." 

" _No!_ " She screamed and trashed at the guards holding her down. "Take me back, _take me back_. I can't be here, this isn't right." 

A woman broke free from the crowd and clasped Clarke's face in her hands. Her hands were soft against Clarke's skin and she closed her eyes for a moment before opening them again. The woman in front of her hand eyes that reeked of home and Clarke felt bile rise in her throat as she smiled and stroked her cheek. The wrongness of everything around her paralyzed her and she found herself unable to utter a word.

"Clarke," the woman in front of her sobbed. "Clarke, it's me. _Please_ , honey. It's mom."

Rage flared inside Clarke and she found her voice again.

"No, you're _not_ ," Clarke screamed. "My mother is dead, she is _dead_. You're not my mother."

The face of the woman in front of her crumbled and a sound that sounded like someone dying escaped her throat. An older man placed a hand on her shoulder and pulled her away slowly.

"Abby, she's been through a lot," the man said and looked at her with curious, but sad, eyes. "Let her get some rest."

Abby wiped her tears and nodded, unable to look at Clarke. She got up from the floor and backed away from Clarke with slow steps. The man nodded towards the guard and they lifted her up from the floor as if she weighed nothing. Clarke fought against their grips on her and she felt panic rise inside her when she realised she'd never be able to get back.

"Please," she said and hated how her voice broke. "You don't understand, I have to get back. I _have_ to. I'll die if I don't, please, you have to let me go."

They didn't reply and Clarke felt her strength fade. They turned a corner and Clarke saw the room she had broken out of. Her heart nearly stopped when she saw who was standing in front of it. She would never forget those eyes.

"You," she breathed and the girl in front of her gave her a shaky smile.

Then the guards carried her into her room and locked the door. And the girl was gone.

-

The only people visiting Clarke for the following weeks were the doctor making sure her vitals were stable and the man that had pulled Abby away. He was trying to get her to talk, but Clarke had refused to utter a single word to him. That hadn't stopped the man from talking to her though. He had told her that his name was Markus Kane and he had then proceeded to tell Clarke one ridiculous lie from the other.

He told her that she had been kidnapped four months ago and that they had been looking for her ever since. That she had once lived in space on something called the Ark and that she had been part of a mission that had sent her and one hundred other kids down to the ground to see if it was inhabitable. He told her that they had attacked Mount Weather and most of it's inhabitants had died within hours of exposure to the outside air. She had tuned him out after that. She didn't want the part of her that felt doubt to listen. She wanted to go home.

One day, exactly three weeks after she had been taken the doors opened. She cast a bored glance at the door and froze in place when she saw who it was.

It was long locks of hair stuck behind an ear. It was a shy smile directed at her and it was long fingers twisted into each other in nervousness. The girl she had been drawing for months with no explanation to why and Clarke found herself unable to speak now that she might finally get the answer to that question.

The girl halted in, using a crutch for support and Clarke wondered what had happened to her. There was so many questions running through her head, and she had no idea where to start. The girl hesitated in front of Clarke's bed, and Clarke instinctively curled her legs up underneath her to make room. She got a small nod in thanks before she sat down in front of Clarke.

They sat in silence, just looking at each other for a while, and Clarke found herself desperately wishing that she knew this girl in front of her. She knew she was important somehow.

"You knew who I was," the girl said.

"I don't," Clarke said quickly. The girl's face fell and Clarke felt the need to explain herself. "I mean... I don't remember much from before my accident, but... I would draw a lot and I always drew the same thing." She stared at the girl until the she let out a low ' _oh_ ' in realisation. There was a small smile playing on her face. Clarke felt her cheeks heat up in embarrassment and suddenly she didn't care if everything that was said to her next was a lie, she just needed some sort of explanation.

"How do I know you?" she asked and the girls face fell remarkably.

"My name is Raven," she said quietly. "We... were friends before."

Clarke shook her head. "I've never seen you before in my life," she said and Raven sighed.

"That's what they made you believe," she replied and Clarke could hear the sadness in her voice. "Clarke, please. They're only letting me in here because they thought I might get you to listen."

"Why should I listen?" Clarke said sharply. "Your people killed mine. They're all dead because of you. Why would I believe anything you say?"

"Because you know that I'm telling you the truth," Raven said pleadingly. "I have never lied to you and somewhere deep down you know that."

When Clarke didn't reply she could see that Raven's patience was starting to wear thin. "Why can't you just believe me?" she asked loudly and got up from the bed. Is it because of that maniac who took you from me-us? The one who made you this way?"

Clarke looked at her in confusion and Raven's shoulder sagged. She pulled out something from her back pocket and Clarke saw that it was a book. The same book she had seen President Wallace read several times in her room.

"He drugged you to get the information he needed," Raven said roughly and tossed a book into Clarke's lap. "He wrote it all down. Every memory you gave him... and every memory he gave you."

With that she turned around and left. Clarke looked at the red cover and with shaky hands she opened the first page. A thin, neat handwriting stared back at her. The first page was a description of an experiment that would determine if it was possible to create new memories and erase old ones. To erase someone's entire life and make them an empty shell, free to mold for your own pleasure. To make them happier to comply, to give up necessary information with as little resistance as possible.

Clarke felt bile rise in her throat, but she forced herself to keep reading. She only snapped up a sentence here and there, but it was enough.

_100 criminals sent to the ground to see if it was survivable._

_Her parents died when she was ten._

_They tried to make peace with the outsiders, they call them grounders, but failed._

_They blew up the bridge a few miles south of our barriers._

_She has a scar on her left knee. She thinks it's from an accident when she was a kid. It's really from a grounder attack._

There was countless of pages filled with more of the same. A book filled with her truth and his lies followed by the dates they had been told. Clarke felt her vision blur and she pressed a hand on her chest so that she'd be able to breathe properly. The book slipped from her hands and down to the floor and she buried her hands as she cried.

A small cough could be heard from the door and Clarke buried her face deeper into her arms, hidden from you. "Please, just... leave me alone," she begged. "I just wanna be alone, just for a little while."

Silent steps came up to her and the bed creaked slightly as someone sat down in front of her. A cautious hand rested upon Clarke's arm and Clarke raised her head slightly and came face to face with Abby, who was smiling sadly at her. There was that first, initial feeling of wrongness spreading through her body that made Clarke reel back. But there was also a flash of something else. A faint memory of her running around in a brightly lit room, so unlike the ones that had been her home for, what she had thought, all her life, where she had been lifted up high into the sky by a man with strong arms while a laughing woman watched.

Something must've shown on her face because Abby's hand tightened around her arm. "Oh, honey," she said and that was all it took.

" _Mom!_ "

-

The following weeks was a blur of her created memories and the old ones trying to resurface. Now that she wasn't fighting it anymore more memories came back each day. Her room was a constant stream of visitors that seemed genuinely happy to see her now that she wasn't trying to run away. Jasper and Monty had whooped loudly when they came to visit her for the first time and loudly declared that she better remember them soon or they would have to make things weird.

Finn and Bellamy had visited her shortly after that and Clarke apologised for threatening to kill them. They had shrugged in unison.

"Life was getting boring anyway," Bellamy had said with a small smile. "There's nothing like a friend trying to kill you to shake things up."

They had stayed for an hour telling her everything that had happened since her disappearance and when they left, again, together, Bellamy had let Finn out first with a heavy hand on his shoulder. Clarke wondered what made them stop hate each other.

Still, the one person she wanted to visit the most never did. The more the drugs wore off, the more it allowed her to dream. And Raven was in them, every night whispering things in her ear and planting gentle kisses along her collar bones and cheeks. She wondered why Raven never came to visit.

-

She woke up one day and found Raven standing in her doorway with a weary look on her face. Clarke was so relieved that she had finally come to visit again that she felt tears form in her eyes.

"Hi," she breathed and Raven gave her a small smile.

"Hi, yourself," she said and took a cautious step forward. "I hear you're remembering things."

Clarke felt her throat close up and she nodded slowly. "Everything he told me was a lie," she whispered and rubbed at her eyes. "I know that now."

Raven didn't say anything, only sat down in front of her without taking her eyes off Clarke. The air was thick between them and every time Clarke blinked she could see Raven laying next to her, or holding her hand or kissing her lips and it was more than she could take. She reached out and grasped one of Raven's hands in hers. It was rough against her own smooth skin and she hated herself for forgetting how much this had all meant to her. To just be close to Raven.

"I remember you," Clarke said thickly and Raven tensed. "I loved you once."

Raven let out a choked sound and looked away. Clarke could see tears slowly running down her face, and she couldn't stand it, like in her drawings, so she looked away. Raven drew a shaky breath and slowly pulled her hand away.

"I know," she replied.


End file.
